


Honesty

by Synthetic_Soul



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthetic_Soul/pseuds/Synthetic_Soul
Summary: A drabble created as part of a prompt for overwatch rarepairs week 2018Day two: Honesty/Lies.





	Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> Zenyatta finally gives Reinhardt the K.

“-I want more. I want us to be more than friends.”

 

Zenyatta stands in the shadow of the broadly set man, their outline silhouetted against the brightness streaming through the torrential downpour that had seen them drenched before they had sought the shelter of the homely, plant-clustered, porch. His clothes cling to him uncomfortably, his rather plain long-sleeved t-shirt offering a glimpse of toned flesh beneath the sodden expanse of fabric. He thinks he pales in significance compared to the well-muscled man who doesn’t appear to give any semblance of credence to Zenyatta’s insecurities.    
The culmination of the last few months has led to this, he knows this, yet it seemed intangible to him. What he had wanted for so long could  _ never _ be a reality, or so he’d thought.  

 

How many times had they passed each other in the entrance hall to their apartment block, to engage in small talk, only to have found that time had run away with them and they had been there for an hour or more, their previous tasks all but forgotten. Small talk had progressed to flirtation, the casual exchange of compliments to the odd suggestive quip. He has welcomed them all, and if he was not mistaken, so, too, had his lofty neighbour. But neither of them have been honest...Until a few moments ago.

  
Zenyatta wants to rewind, to hear those two words again and finally hear them  _ right. _ Because, of course, they couldn't be, could they? This wasn't real, something would interfere, just as it had all those times before, and he would wake up, alone, disappointed, left to ponder the previous night’s torrid dreams with sweaty palms and a rosy, flushed, complexion.   
Yet this feels so grounded in reality, from the fresh smell of rain-soaked earth, to the warmth of one huge hand practically engulfing his shoulder,  it couldn’t be anything but the truth.

 

“Kiss me” That whisper of a voice had asked of him. Hoarse but gentle, silkily caressing his mind. “If this is not my imagination, then show me what it is between us.”

 

Zenyatta stares back, caught, gaze unable to meet the crystal blue of Reinhardt's eyes, his own, dark gold, partially veiled by the soft and muted blackness of his eyelashes. His gaze is focused on something else entirely - Those lips, soft and full and ripe for claiming. He can feel his pulse quicken at the thought and a soft, yet somewhat humorous, lament plays through his thoughts, that their height difference meant he would need to rise up onto the very tips of his toes to do so.

 

Reinhardt does all the thinking for him, bending to cup the side of Zenyatta’s face, thumbpad wiping the spatters of rain from one perfectly sculpted cheekbone.    
“You are adorable when you blush.”     
That gentle, loving expression conveyed in his actions, the tender, basso chuckle he utters, whilst tilting the younger man’s face up, and Zenyatta does not resist. His laugh is melodic, warm, and full of nervous gratitude. If anyone could have put him at ease after confessing their true feelings, then it was Reinhardt. Somehow, he’s always had a calming effect on Zenyatta. But the butterflies in his stomach will not remain calm this time, each one calls out for him to act, the other is so close now he can feel the gentle ghost of warm breath against his own lips, tempting, prompting. 

 

Their lips brush, tentative as they test the conviction of the other, both afraid of the other’s rejection. They need not worry, the second press more confident, firm and sure, like the way in which Reinhardt enfolds Zenyatta in an embrace so safe and consuming he surges, mouth working hungrily against the other’s, as if the taste of the larger man was the only air he needed to breathe, like nothing else matters but this. The slip and undulation of the other’s tongue is welcomed eagerly, stealing the breath from Zenyatta’s lungs until the pair of them part, forehead pressed gently to forehead, breathless and gasping and craving  _ so much more _ . 

 

It is time to be honest. 

 

Reinhardt’s hand trails a delicate path down Zenyatta’s spine, his body taking a moment to savour this closeness. It’s all he has thought about for what felt like an age and by the powers that kept this world turning, he would commit every curve or bump, every contour to memory.     
  


“I would very much like that too, mein schatz.”

  
  



End file.
